Rosings
by maryhell
Summary: A little one shot that merges my two favourite characters with a specific scene from Pride and Prejudice. Don't like the thought? Don't read.


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to twilight or Pride and Prejudice. Merging the two for this particular scene was simply toooo tempting.**

**A/N: This story has not been pre-read or betaed – so all mistakes are mine. The reason for my terrible behaviour is that, I wanted this little OS to be a present to three people who have encouraged, nurtured and become very special to me. Bellemeere, Harrytwifan and Dani. To me you guys are the best.**

**The world of fan fiction is an extraordinary place. It contains such a variety of characters and wonderful people, all with the aim of making the world of fantasy a most enticing place to be. May it continue to healthily grow in 2013.**

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**This is only a little one shot that has been dallying around in my brain for a long time and comes to the fore whenever I watch a particular scene from Pride and Prejudice. It is not long, and won't be continued to become a longer fic, but I hope you enjoy it for the outtake that it is.**

**It could probably be rated T, but to be honest, I have lost the plot where ffn ratings are concerned now, so have stayed with M for safety.**

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I open my eyes to find myself in the small picturesque Kent church. Long cold wooden pews are filled with parishioners clad in their Sunday best. The vicar is droning on and on; his tone flat and monotonous. Only his wife gazes on with unerring loyalty. Looking around, it seems, most of his congregation are beginning to wonder if the price for entering the gates of heaven is worth sitting through this Sunday ritual. Most look as though they are ready to slit their wrists and go to hell; some children have found trinkets in their pockets to occupy themselves – anyone remaining is already resting their eyes.

Words from Reverend Collins echo off the walls.

"...to whom it may apply... for consolation in distress. There are many conveniences which others can supply and we cannot procure."

The vicar nervously glances over his flock.

"I have in view those objects, which are only, to be obtained through intercourse... Forgive me, through the intercourse of friendship or civility. On such occasions, the proud man steps forth to meet you not with cordiality, but with the suspicion of one who reconnoitres an enemy..."

I close my eyes again with an internal groan – Oh please let him stop. These are precious minutes of my life that I will never regain.

The vicars' words fade into the background, while other whispers invade my semi-conscious state.

"How long do you plan to stay?" A female voice asks.

"As long as Darcy chooses; I am at his disposal," replies the soft, commanding voice, of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Everyone appears to be. I wonder he does not marry and secure a lasting convenience of that kind."

Oh please... how much more of this behind the scenes hope, fishing for information, or was it bitching, was I expected to listen to. I sometimes have difficulty distinguishing the difference. It started at the onset of summer, when Mr. Darcy arrived; and still hasn't stopped. Mr. Darcy is a fine, upstanding member of the community who knows what he wants and doesn't suffer fools gladly. He has power and position in his favour; including a loyal following of friends and employees, all of whom are willing to do his bidding.

His presence is all the more intimidating due to his taller than average healthy frame, dark hair and ruggedly handsome features. His tongue too is sharper than any blade carried on his person. Those not part of his inner circle of confidants, are, usually, not sure whether to throw themselves at his feet or quake at them.

Many are jealous of what he has and can't help spreading rumours of his serous unyielding countenance, or other similar lies. Something I am sure great men have to deal with on a regular basis. Seriously though, how do they expect a man of his station to act? He is not a playboy. He takes his duties seriously.

Thunder rumbles - heavy drops of rain, batter the steeple and slates. Its effects vibrate through the church timbers. I think the powers that be, are giving warning - enough is enough - and it is time for this service to end.

The vicar must take heed of his heavenly reprimand; he ceases everyone's suffering by finally finishing his sermon.

Another heavy clap rudely awakens any in slumber, including myself. My eyes open to look straight into the steely gaze of Mr. Darcy. Oh dear, this will not go down well with my mistress, Lady Catherine de Bourg.

After paying my respects to the small dog collard man, I close my tweed jacket around me tighter and run as fast as my legs can carry, towards home.

My feet splash through mud, puddles, over bridges and grass till they reach the next available shelter – a summer house on the edge of Rosings wood. It's a beautiful spot surrounded by green open fields and trees; though private in many other ways. The railings edging the outer walkway are strong enough to tie a stallion to, while the inner sanctum is sheltered from the elements via a series of panelled doors. Another five minutes and I'll be back in my cabin safe before a roaring fire; though, for now, I need a rest, and to let some of the rain drain away from my body.

With my hands on my knees, I pulled in deep breaths until my heart slowed and I could breathe more easily.

I hear hard footfalls and I startle to attention. I swing around to face the noise with such force that I slip. I'm sure I should be residing on the wet floors of the summer house; however, I realize that the strong arms have halted my descent of embarassment.

"Sir!" I say with a gulp.

"Call me Darcy Mr. Cullen, please forgive me."

Standing once more, I stupidly try to shake the creases of my Sunday best, and water away. The only thing I succeed in doing is imitating a dog that has just emerged from a lake.

"For what, you saved me from getting even wetter than I am already. It should be me who is thanking you."

He seems to ignore my ramblings. His face scrunched as though fighting a losing battle. Eventually, his shoulders sag in defeat and his eyes meet mine.

"I have struggled in vain, and can bear it no longer. These past months have been a torment. I came to Rosings only to see you. I have fought against judgement, my family's expectation, the inferiority of your birth, my rank. I will put them aside and ask you to end my agony."

"I don't understand."

"I love you - most ardently. Please do me the honour of becoming mine."

I whirl over his words again in my head until they sink in.

"Sir, I appreciate the struggle you have been through, and I am very sorry to have caused you pain. Believe me, it was unconsciously done."

"Is this your reply?" He sounds out of sorts for some reason, I have no idea why. Did he really think his words were seductive and would entice me to drop everything and everyone I hold dear? If he thinks that, then he really has lost a marble in a muddy pool.

"Yes, sir." I answer positively, yet cautiously.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No."

"Are you rejecting me?" His tone suggests that he doesn't believe he has heard me correctly.

Maybe more than one marble is missing? I guess he needs the idiots guide on how not to woo.

"I'm sure the feelings which hindered your regard will help you overcome it."

"Might I ask why with so little civility, I am thus repulsed?"

"I might enquire why you told me you liked me against your better judgement? If I was uncivil, then that is some excuse. But you know I have other reasons."

"What reasons?"

"You are My Lady's nephew and I have always treated you with respect, though underneath I suspected you wanted more. I have never facilitated your desire for me and to your credit – have not acted upon it... till now. You are a good man, but, you are well aware, my heart belongs to another. There is nothing you have that might tempt me."

Whenever, he took control of Lady Catherine's duties - he visited my gamekeepers' cottage. During our talks he'd enquire after my well being and relationship status. Each time, I would answer the same. For me, the quicker business was over, the sooner I could get back to my work. The social delicacies of society did not suit me.

I was one of the few that liked working for Lady Catherine – she was sharp, to the point and didn't dawdle. The intimate life of her gamekeeper was of no interest to her, unless I was stealing the coveys – which I wasn't.

"Your indifference to my wealth is one of the many things I love about you. From the first moment I saw you, you saw past the vices of affluence, directly into my soul. It was stripped bare for you. You saw nothing but the person behind the mask."

"Just because I can see the real you, doesn't mean I desire any part of you or your world."

Darcy began to get frustrated and defensive.

"And yet in all the time I have been at Rosings, I have not seen you with your so called heart's desire. Forgive me, if I doubt the existence of another. My thoughts stray towards the belief that your rejection is aligned with your fear of my position."

"Sir, I do not adhere to rank or riches. You could be a High King or lowly stable boy; if my heart loved you, it would love you. "

"I can still protect you from..."

Mr. Darcy is cut off by the presence of another.

"He doesn't need your protection – he has mine."

Jasper – my love.

"Edward," he whispered.

Jasper's lips find mine and the world around me disappears.

Warmth seeps through my cold exterior.

The next thing I know, his body is enveloping mine as only my love's can. His arms circle my waist while his hand sinks lower to cup my manhood.

My head flops back to his shoulder. "Mmmmm, Jasper," I coo, "don't stop."

"That depends, on whether you are with me or still in your movie. Which scene was it this time?"

"Does it matter? No one can tempt me away from you – not even the delectable Mr. Darcy."

No more words are spoken. Kisses and lathered bodies caress bubbles and limbs. My Jasper turns off the shower and towels me dry.

Leading me by the hand, he takes me to our bedroom and tenderly lays me upon the bed. He makes love to every inch of me. His succulent lips, tantalising tongue and stallion's length are perfect accompaniments to the soul they surround. I am his instrument and he the maestro. He plays my body better than Dario Marianelli plays the theme to Pride and Prejudice; and the results are stunningly classical.

The End


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